Cracking the Façade
by Codiak
Summary: When Danny's sentenced to spending daily sessions with his school counselor, she can't seem to find a way to get past his elusive answers and dead silences. But then again, what secrets could an outcast teenager be hiding, right?
1. Sentencing

**Updates will come when the inspiration hits. I _do_ have a bit of a game plan with this story.**

**I've decided to use a 2011-2012 calendar.**

**Enjoy! ;)**

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><p><strong>October 13, 2011. Thursday.<strong>

"Do you know why you're here, Danny?" I ask, running my eyes over his file and the newest report. He glances at me, not saying a word in reply. I lean forward on my desk and fold my hands in front of me. "Danny, you broke someone's nose and dislocated their shoulder."

"Dash deserved it," he remarks quietly, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

"Why?" I wonder casually, hoping to receive some glimpse of information to help. He only shrugs. "Danny, do you want to be here?"

"No. No, I really don't."

"You're lucky Mr. Lancer managed to talk Dash's parents out of a lawsuit. Do you still want to be here?"

He raises an eyebrow at me, sitting straighter in the chair. I vaguely notice the few red stains on the front of his shirt and the busted lip that he has as his own.

Danny doesn't seem too bothered about sitting in my office for issues pertaining to legal assault.

"Between a lawsuit and this?" he muses. "I suppose being here is better."

"Good choice," I agree, leaning back. "Danny, why did you do that to Dash?"

He pauses to think, a small frown beginning on his lips. "Does anyone ever think of why I would _have_ to do that to Dash?"

I'm not surprised by his comment. It's what I expect to hear. "You've never done it before." He doesn't respond. I continue. "Danny, do you get picked on a lot?"

His blue eyes roll openly and then he huffs. "May I go?"

"No, Danny. You're now required to see me daily until we figure out what's going on inside your head."

"I don't have time for this," he states, rubbing his temple.

"And why's that?"

Once again, he leaves me without an answer. He deliberately looks out my window and stares into space to avoid me. "Danny?" I try again. "The longer you ignore me and cooperating, the longer you will sit in that same chair and look out that same window and see that same tree and hear the same questions. It won't get easier for you, and I can't help you if you won't speak to me properly."

"I don't need help," he mutters bitterly, fixating on the window.

"Need or want, Danny?"

"No difference."

"Yes, there is a difference. I want to help you. It's my job. I like to help kids."

"I'm not a kid."

"We'll get into that later, I'm sure. But I still like to help."

"The last person who tried to help almost vaporized my sister and sent me on the path of self-hating depression."

I blink at him and sigh. I know the stories of the ghostly counselor. I've heard and still hear them, and they only make it harder for kids to reach out to me. Danny seems to be another case of just that.

I check the clock on the wall above the door and purse my lips. It's been a solid hour since he was brought to me. And we've only gotten to talking in the past five or ten minutes. "Danny," I begin, "you may leave to go home with your parents now. I'll write you a pass for tomorrow's session." He stays silent, just interested in the pass I hand out to him and the option to finally leave my presence. "Refrain from anymore trouble until then. You were lucky not to be suspended for this. And don't even think about skipping. Understand me?"

"Goodbye, Mrs. Collin," he says instead, opening the door and shutting it behind him. I prop my head up with a hand and stare where he had just been.

"This is going to take forever," I murmur, knowing full well that I'm right.


	2. Banana Nut Muffins

**A few things you should know:**

**First, I'm basing the schedule off of "block scheduling." With that, we have four classes a day for an entire semester. There's a little more to it, but I'm going to get all into that. Each class is about an hour and a half, and we have lunch for half an hour. So that's how it is with Danny here.**

**Second, not all questions will be answered immediately, and it may seem like things are skipped over right when we're getting into it. That's all part of the plan. Everything _will _get answered over time.**

**;)**

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><p><strong>October 14, 2011. Friday.<strong>

I'm sitting in my usual spot behind my desk when he quietly comes in again. Only, this time it's without the escort of the vice principal.

"Hello, Danny," I greet casually, smiling as he warily sits in front of me after closing the door. He doesn't reply. "Now, you didn't think about skipping, did you?" I mean the question as a little joke.

He replies, "Sam made me go."

So he's mentioned a friend. Perfect. "And is Sam a close friend?" He gives me no response. Maybe it's not as perfect as I hoped.

He blinks lazily at me. "Is this going to be an hour again? Because I have lunch at—"

"No, only half an hour," I answer. "You'll come in here every day this time for half an hour. It'll take us up to your lunch. You have Mr. Lancer for English now, so he won't mind the absences." I tap a finger against my desk. "So how's your day so far?"

No response.

"It's a harmless question, Danny," I say.

"No question is harmless," he retorts, head turning for the window.

I look down at the notepad I have laid out and scratch something down.

_Paranoid._

I can feel his eyes on me as I finish writing. "What's that?" he wonders.

"Just some notes to help me," I reply, "help you." His head turns back to the window. "Would you rather if I took them after you left, Danny?" He says nothing. I lay the pen down and wait, clasping my hands together. He stares at the tree. I stare at him.

Ten minutes of silence pass between us before I mentally shrug to myself. If he doesn't want to talk, I will.

"I've had a good day so far," I announce contently, leaning back in my chair. "I woke up and walked my Labrador. His name's Buggy." Danny ignores me. "We had a nice walk and I fixed him some breakfast. He eats like a horse, he does." I wave my hand around as if I'm speaking to someone who's interested. "It was also a good day because there haven't been any ghosts seen yet." He stiffens. It happens so fast that I almost miss it. Maybe his parents' profession bothers him? I make a mental note to write the topic down later before moving on.

"And one of the lunch ladies made some banana nut muffins," I say. "They are just delicious. She gave me one this morning. I have an extra, Danny. Would you like it?"

Danny goes on pretending that he can't hear me.

"You know," I mention, "it's easier to have a conversation when the other person adds to it."

He finally looks to me, coming forward some on the chair. A smirk suddenly lights of up his face in a bit of an eerie way. I absentmindedly stare at his mouth in the process. Where's the busted lip he had yesterday? "I'm stubborn," he states proudly, perhaps trying to steer me off from my desire to have him share some aspects of his life.

I push the thought of the lip aside and chuckle. I lean forward and smirk as well. "So am I, Danny," I state as he had.

The smirk vanishes from his face and he falls back against the seat, dejected from my answer.

"This can either be highly simple or terribly exhausting," I continue. "Your choice, Danny." He gazes at his sneakers. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Do you have any plans?" The blue eyes snap up in panic. As he opens his mouth, I cut him off. "It has nothing to do with me. Relax." He does for the most part. His eyes return to normal size and go back to staring at his sneakers. "I'm just curious if you have plans."

"I don't know," he mumbles.

At least that was a response. "What about Sam?" And the silence ensues. With the remaining couple of minutes, I write his pass for Monday and hand it to him. He sits slumped in the chair, looking just as irritated as yesterday. "Have a good day, Danny. See you Monday," I say as the bell rings.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Collin," he says again, standing from the chair and departing from my room.

Once the door closes, I jot down the idea about the ghosts and sit back in my chair. "I'll get to him," I sigh to myself. "All it takes is a little time."

And an eternity of patience.


	3. The Silent Game

**October 15, 2011. Saturday.**

I sleep in today. When I finally roll out of bed around ten in the morning, I find Buggy waggling his butt in excitement as he nudges his bowl around the kitchen floor.

I fill it with kibble and sit down at the kitchen table for a cup of coffee. After a few minutes, I refill his bowl. Why not? It's the weekend. He can diet throughout the week.

Buggy goes for his walk, and I sit in the kitchen when we come back in so that I can overview the records that Mr. Lancer had given me about Danny.

I find myself rereading them when my husband walks in a five o'clock.

**October 16, 2011. Sunday.**

"Anything new?" Alan wonders. He's sitting next to me on the couch while we watch the evening news.

I shrug. "There's a student," I say.

"And what's going on there?"

"He's been assigned daily sessions with me."

I feel my husband tense. I know what he's thinking. He's assuming that Danny is a danger to at least himself. And if he's a danger to himself, then maybe he's a danger to me.

"Danny's fine," I add, wrapping my arm casually around his shoulders. "Just needs the right push in the right direction. Nothing more."

I'm not sure if I'm lying or not.

**October 17, 2011. Monday.**

Danny's in the seat before me as scheduled. I don't waste any time as he turns his head toward the window.

"Let's talk about your grades," I suggest. He ignores me. "Last year," I flip his file open, "you had all high marks for about the first month, give or take. Then they dropped like flies, Danny. Do you want to tell me why?"

I hear him breathe out a gust of air. But he doesn't turn to look at me.

"You can be as bright as your sister," I continue. "She's a senior this year. You had her potential as a freshman. I don't believe it's gone. Mr. Lancer has a note about an exam you took last year. You aced it with a little prompting." I fold my hands on my desk and hunch my shoulders. "Danny?" I receive no response. "Danny, can you look at me?"

His head turns to the ceiling as if he's studying something.

I feel my eyebrow rise. "Are you completely ignoring me?" I ask point blank. I suddenly hear his feet tapping against my carpet.

Lovely.

"Danny," I begin, my head going into a hand, "this isn't going to get you out of anything. Let's talk about something. _Anything_. Your choice."

The teen starts to pick at his nails.

"Remember our conversation about being stubborn people?"

He's scratching his palm.

"How about we talk about Sam? Or your grades? Your day, maybe?"

Danny yawns and leans back in the chair, head tilting backwards until I can only see the bottom of his chin.

The corner of my lip twitches down, but I remain calm. He's not the first student to pull the silent treatment on me. And he's not going to get away with it. I don't care how many sessions we have to sit through.

"Well, I guess I'll just read then," I announce, pulling a drawer open. My copy of _Cujo_ appears on the top of my desk and I open it to where I had left off. "It's by Stephen King. They made a movie about it. It's about a rabid dog that kills people."

Danny remains in his tilted back position.

So I read _Cujo_ until I finally write out his pass and the bell rings. He then moves and stretches his neck, swiping the pass from my desk.

Danny doesn't give a parting word as he shuts my door.

**October 18, 2011. Tuesday.**

He comes in. He sits down. He stares at the window.

"Do you want to talk about Dash?" I wonder. My chair's leaned back and my one leg is propped over the other as I flip through _Cujo_. Danny doesn't say a word. "Do you want to talk about why you said you're not a kid?"

No response.

I read _Cujo_. I write out the pass. I crumple it into a ball and toss it at him to see what he'll do.

He picks up the pass from the floor and goes back to staring out the window. The bell rings. He walks out.

Maybe I'll throw harder next time.

**October 19, 2011. Wednesday.**

I throw _Cujo _at his foot. He stares at it before picking it up and opening to the first page.

I doodle on my notepad until he lays the book on my desk, takes the pass, and walks out.

Tomorrow, I'll bring two books.

**October 20, 2011. Thursday.**

"It's been a week," I say absentmindedly to him.

He doesn't reply.

I throw a Dr. Seuss book at his feet—one that my toddler of a niece absolutely adores herself—and continue reading _Cujo_.

It takes ten minutes before he finally picks up _Horton Hears A Who!_ and flips through it.

I hold back a smirk.

If Danny wants to act like a child, then I'll bring in toy blocks tomorrow.

**October 21, 2011. Friday.**

Danny sits down in his chair, but instead of immediately turning away, he stares straight at me, leaning forward with his hands folded between his knees.

He looks determined.

"Is there something you want to say?" I ask.

"Is there any way to get out of this?" he says simply.

I smile at him. "Make progress."

"What if that's not possible?"

My smile turns into a frown. "It's possible, Danny. All you have to do is talk."

He's silent for a while, and I almost think that I'll have to kick the bag of blocks that I had brought in out from behind my desk.

Then he says, "I can't promise you anything."

"That's good enough for me."

We discuss the first chapter of _Cujo_ until the bell rings. And as he leaves with his pass, he mentions quite casually, "I've always hated those blocks. Goodbye, Mrs. Collin." The door closes, and I'm left with a curious expression on my face.

The blocks are hidden deep in the corner of the space under my desk.

I never said a word about them.


	4. This Isn't Kansas Anymore

**October 22, 2011. Saturday.**

Buggy desperately needs a bath. And as I struggle with him in the tub, my mind wanders off to Danny.

He's finally agreed to talk to me. However, I don't know to what extent. We may end up reading the rest of _Cujo_ aloud and analyzing the chapters until next semester.

Buggy splashes me and begins a game of tug-of-war with the washcloth I'm using, and I return my focus to him.

He's a very needy Labrador.

**October 23, 2011. Sunday.**

"Still seeing this 'Danny' that I've heard you mutter so much about?" Alan asks in amusement.

I glance at him from the kitchen table and sip my coffee. "We both like _Cujo_," I say.

He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. I smirk. He never did like my horror novels.

**October 24, 2011. Monday.**

"So, Danny, are we going to talk about the book or something else?" I wonder brightly as he takes a seat.

"You seem weirdly cheery," he states, shooting me a suspicious look.

"Had a lot of coffee."

"I hate coffee."

"Well, then you don't have to drink it, do you?"

"No. But I do. And it tastes nasty."

I pause, studying him for a moment. "Why would you drink coffee?"

Danny glances away before looking back. "How was your day?"

"That's my line."

"I'm a thief."

"You'll tell me that, but you won't tell me anything else. Go figure."

"Well, Mrs. Collin?" he insists, sitting back and waving a hand. I snort. It seems that I'm the one being held under a microscope today.

"My day was normal," I begin with a thoughtful head nod. "I really haven't had any kids come to me this year." I shrug.

"You must be happy to have me," Danny mutters.

"Oh, you're a joy, yes." We stare at each other for a minute, sizing one another up.

"So it's been a good day?" he checks. It sounds sincere and I chuckle.

"You're a sarcastic little guy, aren't you?"

"I'm not little."

"Still sarcastic."

"I call it having wit."

"To each his own."

"So you're married?"

"For three years now."

"Any kids?"

"Buggy the Labrador."

"Siblings?"

"An older sister and a younger brother."

"How old is your brother?"

"He just graduated high school last year."

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty nine."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'm thirty."

"Why be a counselor?"

"I like kids."

"Why haven't you had any then?"

"Because I'm too busy answering your questions."

"Ah… That's unfortunate." He pauses before saying, "I'm failing English."

I sigh. But at least he's finally brought up his grades by himself. "And why's that, Danny?"

He grins sardonically at me. "Because I'm too busy sitting in this room."

"Ah…" I mock, tapping my chin. "That's unfortunate."

"Do you like answering questions?"

"I _adore_ answering questions," I reply, smiling at him. "Do you?"

"Not one little bit," Danny remarks. We stare at one another again.

"Are you having fun with this?" I inquire.

"I'd rather be scratching my nails on a chalkboard."

Ouch. Am I _that_ terrible of a person to sit with for half an hour? "I thought we came to an agreement last time we saw each other."

He rubs at his eye. "I know. And I'm talking. I didn't say that it'd be anything productive." Danny chews on his lip before saying, "It's not you. I just don't like being here. It's a waste of my time in my opinion, and acting like an ass is my new attempt at getting out."

"Ass?" I repeat. He hasn't been the first student to cuss. And I can't say that I'm clear of the charge, either.

He winces, looking to the window. "My bad…"

"Well, _ass_," I address, "this new attempt isn't going to get you anywhere. I can keep up on your antics as fast as you can create them."

Danny blinks at me. "You called me an ass," he states, seemingly surprised.

"I don't think I've heard that word used so many times in less than a minute than I have now. Besides, does the name bother you?"

He shakes his head. "I've been called worse."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No." He straightens up to look more professional. "Besides, I'm the one asking the questions today."

"Then ask away." I smile wide as he pauses. He's quiet for a couple minutes, probably not prepared with anymore questions. As the silence continues, I say, "How did you know that I had blocks with me?"

Danny stiffens. "You remembered that?"

"I have a wonderful memory. But how'd you know?" I'm genuinely curious. How had he known?

"What's your husband's name?" he says instead, looking completely serious.

Well, there goes my answer. For now, anyway. "Alan."

"That's nice." His voice seems subdued, like the vigor he had when he first came in was sucked away by some force. He chews his lip again. "What's your name?"

"Dorothy."

I see the corner of his mouth pick up. "And you didn't name your dog Toto…why?" Some of the arrogance is back in his voice.

I roll my eyes at his question. "You're hilarious."

"Did you and Alan marry on the yellow brick road?"

And that's how the rest of the time goes, Danny shooting me the most obnoxious _Wizard of Oz_ related inquiries while I huff and take my turn acting like an immature teenager.

But if it brings us eventual progress at some point, so be it.

By the time the bell rings, he's humming _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_ and giving me a wave as I deliver a childish glare. "Goodbye, Dorothy! I'm off to see the wizard!" he chimes at the last second with a content expression, shutting the door behind him.

"That's 'Mrs. Collin' to you, Fenton! And I hope you get abducted by the Wicked Witch of the West!"

All I hear is fading laughter as I slump back in my seat, pouting my lips like a child.

And if Danny thinks he's winning our sessions over to his side by this, he's dead wrong.


	5. Child's Play

**October 25, 2011. Tuesday.**

Danny sits down, rubbing his shoulder as he does so. He looks exhausted.

"Am I allowed to ask questions today?" I say.

He trains his eyes on me, a heavy sigh sinking him deeper into the chair. His blue orbs slip shut and I purse my lips.

"I'll take that as a no."

I have to shake him awake when the bell rings.

**October 26, 2011. Wednesday.**

I'm holding a mug of coffee out when he walks in.

"…what?" he wonders.

"You fell asleep yesterday, Danny," I announce wryly. "And you said you drink coffee. Half of this is milk and sugar, so it can't taste that bad."

He awkwardly accepts the cup, blinking at the contents as we sit for a quiet moment. "Thanks," he murmurs, taking a small sip.

"Now I get to ask questions," I say, smiling at him. He stiffens.

"But, _Dorothy_," he pleads. "We had such a nice time on Monday…"

I snort. "Nice try, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Why?" Maybe we can play off from this.

"Because—" He cuts himself off, taking a large drink of caffeine.

"Because…?"

Danny places the mug back onto my desk. "That tastes nasty."

I raise an eyebrow. "Well, why aren't you a kid, Danny?" I prod.

"I'm sixteen. That's not the age of a kid," he quips, crossing his arms.

"I'm nearly twice your age. So to me, you're a kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Kid."

"Not."

"_Kid_."

"Not!"

"Stupid little kid~"

"I'm not a kid!" he yells, glaring at me.

"That was a childish thing to do," I mention nonchalantly, staring up at the ceiling. "Adults know how to hold their temper."

"I…" He locks his jaw, simply continuing to glare.

"You what, _kiddo_? If you're not a kid, then explain to me _why_. Otherwise, you're nothing but a child in this room. I'm the adult. You're the child. Unless you can prove me wrong."

He wants to argue with me about it. I can see it in his eyes that he wants to tell me all about him not being a child. But there's something stopping him, some wall that still refuses to break away.

So he glares.

And glares some more.

By the time he's tired of glaring at me and then the window, it's time to leave. So he takes the pass from my desk and opens the door. I wait for his usual parting statement, though I wouldn't be surprised if he simply left.

However, he stands holding the door for a few moments, shoulders tense.

"Danny, is there something you want to say?" I ask hesitantly. I don't want to scare him away too soon if he wants to remain here.

"…a kid hasn't seen what I have. I'm not a kid. And that's _all_ I want to say about it. Goodbye, Mrs. Collin."

I don't even have a second to respond. He's gone from the room and I'm left pondering every last word. I quickly write what he said down and sit back in my chair. It's a breakthrough. It's small and there's no telling if it'll ever go somewhere, considering how closed Danny tends to be. But it's a breakthrough.

And it's the only proof that I need that Danny honestly wants to talk.

**October 27, 2011. Thursday.**

I try not to appear eager when he comes in. I want him to talk. I want him to open up and let me see what's going on inside. I want to help in any way I can.

"So, Danny," I say. "How are you today?"

He glances to the window. "It's raining outside."

"Does that mean you're raining inside?"

"If that's a jab at my head being a storm cloud, then clever." Danny shoots me a look. "But no. I'm all well and dandy—" He shivers.

I raise an eyebrow and glance to my thermostat. Unless he's coming down with something, there's no real reason for him to be shivering in my seventy five set office. I wonder if the shiver means something more.

"Cold?"

"Not a bit," he answers quietly. He starts chewing on his lip and stares out the window. He bounces his feet against the floor, thus bouncing the rest of his body.

"What's making you so nervous?" I inquire.

He freezes entirely. "Nothing."

"Why is it that you—?"

"May I use the bathroom?"

I blink. I typically don't let anyone 'use the bathroom' because then they never return. "Can you wait?"

He blinks back. "Wait, you seriously wouldn't let me…?"

"I've had my fair share of students that don't come back, Danny. You can see my hesitance, correct?"

My response doesn't please him, like I expect. He goes back to chewing his lip and I can tell he's trying not to bounce. Perhaps he has to use the bathroom. Or perhaps he wants to escape my room for one reason or another.

"We can pass the time by talking," I suggest. "In no time, you'll be out of here."

He opens his mouth to respond. I hear a scream. And after a brief second of staring at Danny, I immediately realize that he wasn't the one who screamed. We both snap our gazes to the door before looking back to one another.

"Ghost," he states. "It's about time, huh?"

"Stay here," I order, slowly making my way to the door. I crack it open, peeking into the hallway-

There are teenagers and staff running everywhere. I glance back to Danny. "I'm afraid today's session is over," I announce. "Feel free to vacate the school in a manner relating to that of a chicken without its head."

Danny sports a quick grin and dashes past me. "Goodbye, Mrs. Collin."

I grab my purse and filter into the crowd. In the back of my mind, I realize that he never received a pass.

**October 28, 2011. Friday.**

School's cancelled. From what I saw on the evening news later that day, a robotic ghost had taken out a couple classrooms whilst battling Danny Phantom.

So I sleep in late with Buggy taking up most of the bed as usual. When he decides it's time to be fed, he whines and licks my face before proceeding to step on my chest. He's not a light Labrador.

As I continue throughout the day, however, I can't help but wonder what Danny's doing.

And when Danny Phantom makes another appearance on the television, I can't but help wonder where Danny Fenton stands on his parents' profession…


	6. Explosion

**October 29, 2011. Saturday.**

I fill out a shopping list and pack Buggy into the car with me. He slobbers over the window until I finally roll it down a little, and he sticks his head out as far as he's able to.

"Buggy, stay in the car."

I take an extra route to pass by the school and catch sight of construction vehicles. Amity's learned to work fast when ghosts tend to damage property on a weekly basis.

Still, I wonder if school will go on as usual come Monday. I wonder for the sake that I have questions to ask. I wonder about those questions as Buggy steps on the button to the window and nearly escapes from my little neon.

While it's in motion, of course.

**October 30, 2011. Sunday.**

"Buggy scratch the car door?"

I glance up at Alan and sheepishly smile. "Our little escape artist."

"Little? He's as round as a barrel." My husband leans over my shoulder to peer at the notebook I have set in front of me. "What's this?"

"A list of questions and ideas I have." About Danny, but Alan doesn't need to hear that part to already know.

"I feel like you like this kid more than me."

"Of course I do." I grin. "He's mysterious and spunky. You're just Alan."

Alan doesn't find my humor funny.

**October 31, 2011. Monday.**

Halloween's a fun day.

The fact that the school is still closed makes it even better. For the kids, at least.

I settle in the living room with a book and the bowl of candy, waiting as the time ticks by. Later into the afternoon, some of the younger Trick-or-Treaters ring the doorbell, and I greet every princess and pirate with a smile and a sweet while keeping Buggy back with a foot.

The teenagers tend to come after dark, intent on causing mischief in between collecting candy. Alan steals a handful from the bowl as he passes into the kitchen, asking about dinner.

"Make some pasta," I call. The doorbell rings, and I hurry to open the door and catch Buggy's collar while holding the candy bowl. It really is quite a feat. I should join the circus. "Hey, kids."

"Trick-or-Treat!" The yell is more excited than I usually get from a lot of teenagers, and I grin as I nudge Buggy back inside and move onto the porch. The teen that had addressed me is covered in a white sheet—an old-fashioned attempt at a ghost. I toss a Kit-Kat into his bag and look over to his friends-

"Oh! Danny, hello!" I wave and hold up a Snickers. "I didn't know you were into Halloween." Not that he looks all into it. The only glimpse of a costume I can see is the witch's hat that clearly goes to the purple and black costume of the girl standing beside him.

Danny resembles a deer in headlights when he spots me, clearly not pleased to see that he found the home of his counselor. He straightens up and awkwardly shuffles a foot. The girl rolls her eyes at him and marches up the steps, offering a casual smile. "He'll get over it," she announces, taking the Snickers and hauling her ghostly friend after her as she leaves. "And Happy Halloween!"

The trio disappears down the street before I can even say goodbye, but I'm left with an amused smile on my face.

It seems that Danny's had a lot to say to his friends about me. I hope it's not all bad news.

**November 1, 2011. Tuesday.**

School resumes. The classrooms still aren't up to standards, but tarps provide well enough cover and spare classrooms go to good use. My office is untouched, and that's all I worry about in the scheme of things.

"Did you have fun last night?" I ask. Danny shrugs. "You didn't look too happy."

"Sam and I are pretty over the whole candy thing. We just went for Tucker."

Tucker. The boy under the sheet, I realize. "Well, Sam seemed in the spirit." Sam. The witch without a hat.

"Eh…"

"And you didn't want a costume?"

He sports a sarcastic smile. "I'm scary enough without one."

"Oh, yes, truly terrifying," I agree. "Absolutely frightening, all hundred pounds of you soaking wet."

"I'm not that small," he mutters bitterly.

And he's right. He isn't. He's thin and a tad on the scrawny side, but he isn't what anyone would call a 'shrimp.' I offer a smile and he juts a lip out, staring at the window. "Tell me," I begin, "what's your opinion on Phantom?"

Danny almost glances over at me. I watch him tense just in time to keep his eyes down. I wonder why he won't look at me now. "He's…a hero," he eventually says with a shrug. "What else is there to say?"

A lot, in my opinion, seeing as his parents are always ranting about Phantom's destruction every time they have a moment of spotlight. "How do your parents feel then?"

He sighs, a hint of annoyance playing in his tone. "My parents think every ghost is some evil monster."

"And they aren't?" I don't believe it, either. People can say and try as they may to put Phantom in a bad light, but no one can deny that he does good in this town.

"Phantom isn't evil. I know my parents spout that crud, but…" Danny folds his arms, huffing. "He's just not evil. He tries to do good things. There's just a lot of pressure on his shoulders…"

"Pressure?" He must have slipped up, because he snaps his gaze to mine as if I read his mind instead of just listened to him speak. "What kind of pressure?" And how does he know?

"Uh… Erm, well- Well, you know, he fights other ghosts…"

"He does."

"And that must be stressful, 'cause other ghosts probably don't want him fighting them. And, uh…" He looks uncomfortable, like a fish about to be plucked out of his safe water. "He…has a lot of public backlash. I mean, isn't that pressure? He always has to be perfect. If he's not, everyone will hate him again."

I do see his points. And they make me question something else. "Do you feel like you have to be perfect, Danny?"

His nose scrunches up in confusion. "Me? I'm not perfect."

"But do you feel like you have to be?"

"I think I would be better off if I was perfect, but I'm not Jazz or anything. I'm just…me. I shouldn't have to be anything else, but…"

"But what?" I fold my hands, curious.

Danny eyes me a moment before coyly smiling. "Do you feel like you have to be perfect, Dorothy?"

"No," I say. "We're all human. We're bound to make mistakes."

His smile vanishes, and he puts his attention on the window.

Maybe something I said upset him because he doesn't say much else until he takes his pass and leaves.

**November 2, 2011. Wednesday.**

I try to keep today's session light, so I ask what I believe to be a harmless question. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

His face reddens, and I think it's because of the idea of someone in particular. "Uh…no."

"No?"

"No… No girlfriend."

There can be another reason why he's blushing, however. "A…boyfriend, then?"

"What- No! I'm not gay!"

"You know, there's nothing wrong with being gay."

He slides a hand down his face. "This is payback for the _Wizard of Oz_ jokes, isn't it?"

"No. I'm simply trying to piece things together. Is there a girl you like?" The red tinge to his face blooms back. "What's her name?"

"It's…nothing," he murmurs, wringing his hands together.

"Attractive name."

"Oh, funny…"

I think back over the few names he's mentioned. Besides his sister, there are two to choose from. And if he doesn't like boys, then there's one. "Sam?"

"Wha'? No! We're just friends—"

"Right." I nod my head. "_Friends_. I know how that goes."

Danny narrows his eyes at me as his cheeks burn in embarrassment, and I innocently smile. "I don't like Sam."

He likes Sam.

He likes Sam very much.

**November 3, 2011. Thursday.**

Danny doesn't come to my office.

I call Mr. Lancer and he informs me that Danny never arrived to English but was marked as present in his earlier classes.

I sit in my chair and tap my fingers against the surface of my desk.

I'm aware that Danny often skips class, but after the streak of perfect attendance this past couple weeks, it had slipped my mind. So I wait out the half an hour to see if he turns up. He doesn't.

I go over my notes and turn on the television hanging in the corner of my room. The news is covering Phantom's fight against a ghost with flaming blue hair.

I think about what Danny had told me about the pressures of being a ghost like Phantom.

I ponder about the pressures of being a teenager like Fenton.

**November 4, 2011. Friday.**

Danny is escorted to my office by the principal.

She chatters on a moment about how next time he'll receive a suspension if he skips class and leaves the school, but for now, he'll get a free pass. He slumps in his seat, obviously moody as she shuts the door.

I let the silence brew between us for a few minutes to see if he'll speak first. Instead, he hauls his sneakers onto the chair and curls his hands around his feet, jaw locked as he glares at the carpet.

"Did you at least go anywhere fun?" I ask. He doesn't respond at first.

And then he explodes.

"I am so _sick_ of always getting in trouble for things that _aren't my fault_!" he yells, fists hitting the arms of the chair. "I just try and try and freaking try and all I get in return is a smack in the face for it, and I'm _done_! It's not fair! I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't ask to be put in these situations! And yet, there's nothing I can say to anyone about it, because no one will understand me! No one who can do anything about it will understand me or listen! And I'm sick of it! I just get punished for trying or sent to the freaking counselor's office for finally standing up for myself or grounded because I miss curfew or this or that or the other thing! And I'm so tired of it all!"

The lighting in my room must be off because his eyes almost seem to glow in anger as he sinks down in the chair and folds in on himself into a sloppy ball of skinny teenager and baggy clothes. I blink once and then twice, feeling my shoulders relax. He caught me by surprise with his outburst, and I take a second to think carefully about my next words.

"Danny," I say slowly, "do you want to talk more about what you just said?" Screamed, really, but that's getting technical.

He never answers me so I don't push him, and when the bell rings, I have to prompt him to head off for lunch. He takes the pass and walks to the door so quietly he may as well have been a ghost.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Collin."

His voice is soft; I can't hear the anger anymore.

I can still feel it, though. It radiates off of him like a live wire along with a mixture of other emotions that he tends to keep hidden.

I wonder when he'll explode again.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you, WaitingForAKiss, for the idea about Mrs. Collin inquiring about his dating habits and the <strong>_**Wizard of Oz**_** get back. ;)**


	7. Career

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* * *

><p><strong>November 5, 2011. Saturday.<strong>

I spend most of the afternoon cleaning, and as the day stretches on into boredom, I decide to decorate the house. Not with turkeys, but with the boxes of Christmas decorations stored in the basement.

So what if it's too early?

Buggy makes the process harder than it needs to be by trying to eat the garland.

**November 6, 2011. Sunday.**

"It's not even near Christmas, Dorothy," Alan says as he helps me with finishing touches on the tree. By finishing touches, I mean placing the ornaments high enough up the tree that Buggy is unable to either swipe them off with a tail wag or, worse, easily reach and eat them.

It's an odd looking Christmas tree.

"Buggy insisted," I say. I battle with the star on the top and give up when it continues to sag to the right. "He's spirited in that way."

"…he's also pulling the stuffed Santa off the windowsill."

We sigh. Buggy is spirited, indeed.

**November 7, 2011. Monday.**

"Danny?"

His jaw clenches, and I immediately decide to change the questions I had about Friday. We're in a delicate place; saying the wrong thing now has the potential to have him shy away from me entirely. What help will I be if he decides confiding in me is to none of his advantage?

"Do you want a candy, Danny?"

He eyes me like Buggy does when I pretend we aren't about to drive to the vet. I yank open the somewhat jammed drawer—I need a new desk—where I keep my personal ashtray of assorted, wrapped hard candies. When I set it on the edge of the desk, his wary stare changes as one eyebrow slowly arches. He glances between the green crystal bowl and me, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

"I used to smoke," I inform.

He gives a drawn out nod of his head, and I can nearly hear the sass in his voice, even as he stays silent and chooses an orange peppermint. He pops it into his mouth and twists the plastic wrapper in his hands.

"Have you ever smoked, Danny?"

He continues staring at me with a clear expression of amusement. At least he's in a better mood.

"I'll be honest with you, Danny," I say. "I started smoking in my sophomore year of high school and I only quit about three years ago. I liked my ashtray, so I keep it to remind myself I quit and conquered that part of my life. Just because you start something doesn't mean you can't stop. You can always change—"

"No, you really can't," Danny cuts in. Like that, the bright turnaround in attitude is gone and he's somber as he focuses on the fingers crumbling the wrapper. "With some things, maybe. You can change your clothes or your eating habits. You can change what you watch on TV. You can change whether or not you go to the gym." His gaze flicks up to mine. "You can change whether you smoke or not. You can't change everything, though. Sometimes, when you start something, there _is_ no out. You _can't _stop. And if there is an out, it's not going to make you feel any better about yourself, so what's the point?"

He gives attention to the tree outside the window and hides the candy wrapper in a tight fist. I put my ashtray away and smack my knee off of the stuck drawer while trying to close it.

Rubbing the pain away, I ask, "What is it that you can't stop?"

"…I can't stop the fact talking to you will never change anything."

I feel there's more he thinks he can't stop, too.

"You'll never know, Danny, if you never talk to me."

"Believe me, Mrs. Collin." The wrapper flutters to the floor as he brings up tired eyes. "Talking usually just means more trouble."

**November 8, 2011. Tuesday.**

Danny's five minutes late when my door unceremoniously bangs open and he's shoved inside.

I sit back in surprise as Sam firmly points at him and states, "You are not getting suspended over this, you jerk. Sit your butt in the chair."

She slams the door shut.

Danny blinks a few times before perching on the arm of the chair and murmuring, "Normally she's all about defying authority and breaking rules…"

I smile and shrug. "I suppose when it comes to her good friends, she's a bit more serious. She must really like you."

He hears the hinting in my voice and scowls at me. Without another word, he gets up, plucks _Cujo_ from my desk, and crashes back down to hide his face among the pages.

I log on to my email. "I kind of wondered when you'd want to continue reading that. I finished a while ago, so when you're done, let me know what you think." I delete more than a handful of spam messages and then check the news. "Oh, look, five foods you should never eat. What do you like to eat, Danny?"

"I'm _reading_," he clarifies as he flips a page.

So he is.

**November 9, 2011. Wednesday.**

I'm leaning against the windowsill when he walks in. He awkwardly stumbles to a stop and stands in place. When I don't sit down behind my desk, he shuts the door and folds his arms.

"You don't mind me standing, do you, Danny?"

"Mind you standing? Of course not. It's your office."

He minds. I changed the normalcy of the room for him, and now he's on the defensive. "So do you want to play?"

He frowns, pulls his lips tight as he tries to work out what's going on. "…play _what_?"

I drag a beaten down hacky sack from my pocket and toss it to him. Both arms snap out toward it out of reflex, and the not-so-circular ball hits one of his palms before plummeting to the floor. He stares at it, stoic as he eventually toes it with his foot.

"We're going to break something," he finally decides.

"Not if we just throw it." He humors me by picking it up and throwing it back. As we get a rhythm going, I ask, "What do you want to be when you graduate from here?"

He snorts. "You've seen my grades, right?"

"A few slipups doesn't mean you can't graduate and go to college. Unless you don't want to go to college. Either way, what do you want to do?"

He chews on the corner of his lip and shrugs.

"Ghost hunt?"

He fumbles with the sack and struggles to catch it. Warily, he eyes peer through his bangs as he keeps his head tilted downward. "What makes you say that?"

Every time I bring up ghosts, he gets antsy. Why? "Your parents are into it. The family business, right?"

"Oh." The nervousness melts off of him as he appears like he's about to ridicule himself for being silly. "Yeah, I don't think ghosts are my thing." He tosses the sack back.

"No? What's it like growing up with ghost hunters for parents?" I'm honestly curious, as well as trying to draw him into a deeper conversation.

"Weird? I guess. I dunno, I mean… Like, when you're in elementary school, you hear kids saying their dad is a firefighter or their mom works in an office, and I just… My parents make experiments in the basement and believed in ghosts far before we knew they actually existed. It's not exactly normal. Dad lost the house in a parallel dimension once." The confusion on my face must be obvious. "Oh, come on. Ghosts are real, but you can't believe in my dad doing something like that? Have you ever heard of the Ghost Zone?"

I laugh and shake my head. "I guess anything is possible, Danny. And I don't know much about the Ghost Zone. And your family…" I try to think about what I _do_ know. "They have a portal? Is that it?"

"The portal that connects to the Ghost Zone happens to be in our basement." Danny doesn't look thrilled by this fact. "We keep it shut so nothing gets out, but ya'know, stuff happens…"

"Does that freak you out at all? Scare you?"

He ponders for a moment and stops to hold the hacky sack between his hands. "…not really, actually. It's… I mean, having it in the house isn't always easy, but… I don't mind it." The tone of his voice suggests he's surprised by what he has to say. "…it's not bad all the time."

I wonder what he's realizing. "And you don't want to take after your parents?"

He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. "Ghosts? I think I've had enough of them at this point. _Plenty_ of them, so following after my parents would be just too much."

He's nervous again as he makes a throw. "Then what do you want to do?"

"It's never gonna happen, but I'd love to be an astronaut."

"What do you love about astronauts?"

We go past our time as he prattles on about every space-related topic that pops into his head.

**November 10, 2011. Thursday.**

"Do you have a lot of friends, Danny?" I know he doesn't, from what other teachers have said, but I still ask.

He crosses his legs in the chair and rests his hands in his lap. "I have enough."

"Sam Manson and Tucker. Foley" I doodle in the margins of my pad. My stars are all uneven. "Anyone else?"

"Valerie Gray."

I nod my head. She'd been in to see me a few times since her father lost his job. "Good friends?"

"I'd like to think."

There's sadness there. "Were you _really_ close at some point?"

He scrunches up his nose as his face burns red. "I mean, nothing _lasted_—"

A smirk plays at my lips. "But something _had_ bloomed?"

"We're not so compatible. Well, we are, actually, but…" He suddenly grins at me. "We fight a lot, you see."

I don't know why he's so proud of that fact.

Unless he's proud of something I'm not realizing.

**November 11, 2011. Friday.**

Danny sports a black eye when he quietly steps inside and sits down. "Don't ask about it," he says.

I have to ask, though. "Dash?"

He shakes his head.

"…someone else? You can tell me, you know."

"Sam says that you're not allowed to tell anyone what I say." He rubs his thumbs over each other. "You're not a real therapist, but since you're counseling me, you can't tell people what I say unless it's, like, a risk to someone else or something."

"Pretty much. So you know what that means, right? You can tell me _anything_. Including how you got that black eye."

He's silent for a while, and I think, that just maybe, he's about to tell me something important.

Instead, Danny slouches back in the chair and rolls his head to a tilt as he stares at me. "I don't trust you, though. So that means I _can't_ tell you anything."

Understandable. "What would make you trust me, Danny?"

He gives a little smile. "Nothing, to be honest."

At least he's honest.


End file.
